Sunday, April 13, 2014

Double birthday mission

These two baby boys of mine are on a mission to grow faster than any little humans have grown before. 

I'm not sure which is harder to believe that Bash turns 3 years old this week or that Sam's first year is officially complete in less than 24 hours.   

It's becoming obvious that two of them just isn't enough to share the burden of my over-zealous snuggling, squishing and kissing in the months leading up to this pending farewell to little baby-doom.  I'm confident if they had the words to express how much they'd like me to give them both just a littlemorespace they wouldn't give pause to my motherly emotional fragility before telling me so.  

And so, coordinating in their silent brotherly ways these two patiently seized the perfect moment to tell me how they've been feeling about my clinginess.  

Saved by his raspy laughter, Bash was immediately released from custody as we all looked to the silent offender for an explanation... 

Who then gazed questioningly in our general direction (but not in my cake covered eye) to make sure I got the message that he did not care for feeding himself messy cake and furthermore, he wanted me to clean him up at once and leave him to crawl, climb or chew into as many troublesome scenarios as he darn well pleased for the remainder of his 1st birthday party.  

By the grace of breast feeding, it wasn't long before he came crawling back (mostly, because he can't walk yet) to my loving general direction.

"We cool, Milk Supplier?" 

Taking my inch, I eagerly whispered a theme-fitting quote from a favorite book, "'I love you louder than the loudest rocket ship ever blasted!' little Sam-shiny "

Moving on to spread the verbal love with somebaby older enough to play at this game, I found Bash  sneaking his 2nd pre-singing birthday cupcake..

"I am not eating my cake, Mom!" 

Which was true, in addition to our rocket cake we did have an inviting sugar parade of cupcakes, rice krispies stars and planets to be washed down with a chilled box of juice.

He certainly had not yet touched the cake, but I'll have you notice that the cupcake tray was mysteriously removed from its place next to the rocket ship...  

Caught blue-faced or not I shot him a prefect one liner:

"Bash, did you know that I love you brighter than the brightest star ever shown?!"

To which he giggled down at his unlikely safe treasure and rasped:

"I love you to the moon and back, Mom!" 

Moments before we exploded from party fun and sugar consumption, we fired up the cake rocket and sang Happy Birthday to our little Bash-tronaut and Sam-shine. 

Sienna was crushed to observe a finger print out of the rocket cake "she worked so hard on."

She did work tirelessly filling every moment with idle chatter as I baked and got ready for the party.  While my ears were ready for a teeny break, she is such a hard worker and truly becoming a tremendous help to me in many ways.  Nonstop listening aside, I couldn't have imagined a better partner in party-making crime than this big sister!    She helped me draw, color and design little favor tags to go on the water blasters we gifted the party goers:

The ladies at Imagination Avenue were even impressed with the pictures she drew of Bash-tronaut and Sam-shine to tape on the party room walls.

I think her favorite part was helping me build and paint our jet pack and Birthday Mission space ship! 

You may have noticed one of our space rangers was out of orbit and therefore missing from most of these pictures.... 

We couldn't convince Jonah to miss not even one of his beloved soccer games even for his brothers' double birthday bash.  So Daddy and Jonah made their party debut halfway through as soon as the game was over.  As much as I would've liked all of my boys at the party the entire time I'm not sure there was a sweeter moment than Jonah and Bash running to hug each other when they finally arrived! 

Speaking of hugging, after his purposeful cake sharing, Sam began escaping to the refreshing arms of his ironically, way more affectionate Grandmother!

And with that, I will end by telling you one last time just how much I love theses little guys and one little gal of mine!   Their Dad isn't so bad himself...  

Happy Double Birthdays to the Little Big Brother and the Big Littlest Brother! 

Wednesday, February 12, 2014

525,600 minutes

Five Hundred Twenty-Five Thousand 
Six Hundred Minutes
Five Hundred Twenty-Five Thousand
Moments So Dear

Five Hundred Twenty-Five Thousand
Six Hundred Minutes
How Do You Measure, Measure A Year?

In Daylights, In Sunsets

In Midnights, In Cups Of Coffee

In Inches, In Miles 

In Laughter, In Strife

In - Five Hundred Twenty-Five Thousand
Six Hundred Minutes
How Do You Measure
A Year In The Life 

How About Love?
How About Love?
How About Love?

Measure In Love

Our Seasons Of Love from 2013

Warning: this is my first photo book creation, and as you will see I have much opportunity for growth in my extremely amateur memory keeping...  But I don't think you can deny we have a lot of love to go 'round.  

Thursday, January 16, 2014

Your first story and our miracle

To my sweet Sienna,

Six years ago today was the first time I held your tiny toes in the palm of my hands.  These delicate little toes.  I starred down a your squishy, perfectly round face.  You were the most precious gift of all and you were given directly to us to watch grow for many years to come!   Something we worried we'd never get to do and just like that, there you were so real, so strong and so perfect.  I'll never for one minute forget what a blessing you are, so on your 6th birthday I want to share your very first story.

At your 19 week ultrasound we received heart wrenching news that you had indicators of trisomy 18, a chromosomal disorder that is not compatible with life.  

I was alone in Phoenix in a cold, distant ultrasound lab room patiently waiting for the tech to finally finish her never ending 1.5 hour long ultrasound.  We weren't going to find out if you were a boy or a girl until I was with Daddy in Oklahoma the following week.  But as the tech finally finished her measurements and left the room she returned with two doctors I had never seen before:

"Mrs. S, we need to tell you a few things about the results of the ultrasound.  We are finding indicators of a fairly rare chromosomal disorder called trisomy 18.  Our findings include fluid in her coracoid plexi cysts and clinched fists.  It's also important for you to know that you are having a girl, which increases your risks by 60%.   Here are some print outs about trisomy 18, as you will read it usually leads to stillborn births or mortality within the first 6 weeks of life.... wok, wok, wok, wok, wok..."   

As my mind stopped listening and my heart nearly stopped beating I fought back tears of confusion and anger.   I thought back to the waiver I signed at my doctor's office refusing genetic testing and requesting not to be given knowledge of any abnormalities or disabilities.  I thought of your daddy who was so far away.  How would I tell him this news?  They couldn't be right.  There was no way, was there?  Wait!  You're a girl!  A girl.  We're having a girl!?  Daddy was supposed to be here with me to hear this news.  It is our news.  They stole our news. 

"Ma'am.  Ma'am!  I'm sorry, but we need your attention.  Because of your age and this being your first child we recommend that you do not attempt to carry to term. The chances of having a stillborn or late term miscarriage could potentially risk your fertility later on should you choose to try to conceive again. There are things we can do now that would make it less complicated." 

Those words will always burn in my mind.  "Leas complicated."  "We recommend that you do not carry to term." "Because of your age."

What do those things even mean?!  How can they be said to a mother?

I knew I had to be brave. I had to be strong. I was alone, but I could do it.  I calmly said that an abortion of any kind was out of the question and I wanted to talk to your daddy and do more research before taking their indicators seriously.  They pushed and insisted on immediate testing.  They repeated their recommendations.

I stepped out of the room to call your Daddy.  And then suddenly I wasn't so brave.  I cried and cried.  I wanted him there with me.  I was afraid to go back in the room.  I was afraid to move.  I was so afraid to lose you.  Scared and unsure I stopped their attacks by at least agreeing to take a blood test if they'd let me keep you.   The test only gave us more useless statistics that threatened to rob me of the joy we had feeling you grow in my womb.  But it did let me escape that office-prison of pressure and doom.

Weeks passed and I avoided doctors as much as I could.  Daddy refused to believe any of it from the start.  He says he knew it would all be ok and that you were ok.  But still, we prayed.  We asked everyone we knew to pray for our special intention. We begged Him to show us the ultrasound was a mistake by changing doctors and getting new ultrasounds.  When the repeat ultrasounds found similar results we maintained they were just paranoid.  Looking for things that weren't there.  The statistics had to be wrong.  How could they really know?  But deep down, just in case I begged God for a miracle.

We decided that I would leave early for my maternity leave so I could go to Oklahoma with Daddy when I was just 32 weeks along.   I wanted to start fresh with a new doctor far, far away from mention of trisomy 18.  At 33 weeks I visited the doctor who helped bring you into this world.  He agreed not to do any more ultrasounds.  He said he could assure me my growth seemed normal and you were perfectly positioned for birth.  When I asked him to say you didn't have trisomy 18 he couldn't be sure, but he told us of ultrasound misreadings that had been made before.  He suggested we remain confident it would all be ok.

We began to let ourselves believe it would all be ok.  And even I began to believe was ok.  Daddy insisted he wasn't worried, just as he had never been from the start.  We told ourselves the ultrasound was wrong.  It was a mistake.  The stress I had felt for the last few months subsided. I was with Daddy and together we knew we could handle anything.  His confidence melted my worry.

The day our first Bradley method class was scheduled, almost 5 weeks before we expected your arrival, you picked your birthday.

As the contractions began and I knew you were on your way, for some reason trisomy 18 was as far from my mind as could possibly be.  No one mentioned it.  I'd like to think no one thought of it on that special day.  And then there you were.  Right there in our arms.  Absolutely more perfect than we could ever have dreamed.

For the first time I saw tears roll down your Daddy's cheek.  Neither of us said it, but I knew then how hard he worked to be so very brave for his two girls no matter what that day would have brought.

Daddy was then and will always be my super hero, just like I know he is yours too.

Happy birthday, Little Love Bug!

Wheelin' n dealin'

I started this post in November when I thought we were living life in the fast lane, which really only turned out to be the carpool lane during rush hour traffic.  These past two months, now these months were the indie 500.

And I do believe that it was during the heat of this two month ride that Jonah's personality grew a thousand times a thousand growths.  He has always been his very own person. Never susceptible to pressure or persuasion to be anything or anyone different.  Steadfast in his likes and dislikes.  Most certainly not open to suggestion otherwise from his fashion eye, to his completely unexpectedly healthy meal selections, to the way he views the workings of the world around him. 

A few lines from the month Jonah thought he was, in fact, a real vehicle:

Jonah-  Where are we taking our van?
Me-  We're dropping it off at the mechanic to get looked at.
Jonah-  Oh is that a doctor for our van?!
Me-  Yes, it kinda is.
Jonah-  Oooooh, I think I should probably go too.
Me- You need a little tune up, Buddy?
Jonah-  Yeah, I'm feeling rusty.

Jonah- I can't be really quiet today.  I have a super loud engine!

Jonah- I can't ride (my bike) anymore, I don't have a full tank of water in my belly.

Jonah- Mom! I said its a green light! That means you can't stop swinging me!

Jonah-  Good morning to you Mom!  Today I'm feeling like I'm gonna be a blue bus. 

Jonah-  (Crying) Mom, you didn't say what number bus I am today. Do NOT say 4!  I am not 4 today. 

Jonah- I'm driving angry today.

Jonah-  Mom, does Sam have a baby engine? 

And just for fun....

"Jonah, what is it going to take for you to listen to Daddy the first time I ask you to do something? -Daddy
"Uuum, maybe for Jesus's birthday, but maybe not." - Jonah 

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

Read it to me, Sista!

Houston, we have a reader! 

We celebrate this milestone by mourning the end of a beloved era as we look ahead toward the horizon of never being able to spell-speak in her presence.

Our journey to this new frontier has been delayed as long as possible.  Sienna was under the impression that she would get to learn how to read as soon as she was old enough to start school.  She came home from the first day of preschool dragging her bottom lip because they didn't get to practice any reading.  Much to her disappointment there was never time to practice sounding out words during preschool that entire year.

Her preschool teacher knew Sienna was ready and dying to read, but that wasn't exactly part of the preschool curriculum, she had a full class that year and so she gave me some tips and suggested I work with her at home.  On one or 20 occasions (per day) Sienna also suggested I help her work on sounding out words at home too.  And we did.  As much as possible.  Which wasn't much at all....

As luck would have it, The Girl Who Desperately Wanted To Read's mother never had enough time between changing a thousand diapers, preparing and cleaning up after a thousand snacks and chasing a thousand little brothers around the house to sit down with her and practice reading for her to get very far.

We did and do read books every single day.  We always have and hopefully always will, but when we read we usually read aloud as a family and most toddler members of the family prefer it to be done by someone who had a little more fluency than a pre-reader.

Hope began to grow for The Girl Who Desperately Wanted To Read when kindergarten started and she realized she would most definitely surely learn to read.  And learn she did!  Very quickly!   Her teacher is like a magical fairy godmother-  in fact, the very kind you read about in a good book.  With a wave of her wand (so it seemed) our eager reader went from sounding out word after word to really reading in just a few weeks!

Here is a video I took of her reading a new BOB book in September.  Just a couple weeks after starting school.

Now that we've had a few months of practice and a lot more sight words under her belt she's quite the book worm!

It melts my heart to hear her reading books to her brothers.  She even has her inflections in all the right places.  I love the way she reads new books with such care.  She can't stand to get it wrong.  She'll read each line carefully under her breath and then repeats it aloud as if she were reading for a theater audition.

To my dear Little Reader,

You worked so hard.  You've wanted this for so long.  Congratulations, sweetheart!  You reached for the moon and became one of the stars.  I hope you'll read this little memory one day and know how much we loved riding along the way right by your side as you became a reader.  Welcome to the book club!


Your proud mommy  

Sunday, October 27, 2013

Thank you for giving me a son

When I think about this day just four years ago I remember myself lying in a hospital bed desperately trying to keep my eyes from twitching shut.  I can still feel myself straining to fight away my deep exhaustion to will my mind to focus on the voices all around me.  I just had to hang on a few minutes more.  I had to process all the feelings of completely overwhelming pure, exploding and blissful love, pride and triumphant accomplishment.

In that moment after labor most things were fog.  Most memories were blurred.  But I do remember the hair. The soft, long, perfectly golden blonde hair.  When I close my eyes I can still see his tiny features, not smooched like they should've been, just perfectly defined and all mine to love with every fiber of my being.  

I remember my husband fighting the same exhaustion that was threatening to steal us away from this moment.  I can still hear him say just above a whisper, "Thank you for giving me a son."  

He denies it.  He doesn't remember saying it and insists it's not the type of thing he says.  He probably wasn't meaning to say it to me.  All of which only tells me how raw and genuine that emotion was for him.  Our first son.  A tiny version of himself in so many ways. 

(7 weeks) 

I wish I could remember what I expected the next few years with Jonah to bring in that very moment in time?   I wonder what kind of little boy I thought he would be?   I do remember expecting it all to be challenging, but I can now see how naive or maybe better said misplaced my worries were.   I prepared myself in all the wrong ways.  Even in his journey from my body to this very real world, Jonah taught me everything I never knew I never knew about motherhood and raising children.  His devoted love for his mommy, his demanding nature, his passionate (in every way) little personality and even his stubbornness has made me a better mother, taught me compassion, and (admittedly) much needed humility in many ways.    

On his forth birthday I want to give myself a little gift I've been meaning to write for four years.  I'd like to tell the very first chapter of his story:

(17 months) 

I was overjoyed to find out we were expecting a baby again.  Our arms ached to be filled with another life and I remembered that every day of my pregnancy.  The pregnancy went by quickly and fairly seamlessly.   Around 32 weeks, as I seem to do with each pregnancy, my body started dilating early.  Contractions had come and gone for a few weeks before our son was ready to be born.   I hadn't been sleeping much those last few days and we were as busy as could be jumping around from party to carnival to trick or trunk soaking up the fun of Halloween with a toddler finally being old enough to participate.   I woke up around 4:00 am on Saturday morning thinking the contractions were getting more regular throughout that night, but our close friends were gathering for a halloween party that afternoon and I had already put together a pregnant mini mouse costume the day before that I was going to wear come hell or broken water.  

By the time we arrived to my friend's house I was hiding my secret of early labor with an excited smile.  Not ready to cry wolf, I almost skipped over to my favorite spot on her couch and took in the party around me as I happily breathed through each contraction.  Another friend suspected my early labor jitters from across the room and nonchalantly made her way to search my face for the confirmation she needed.  She sat and talked away.  I can't remember what she even talked about, but I remember being so thankful for her company and her melodic voice singing chatter and meaningless observations about the party to keep my mind off the labor.  Just keep talking to me.  Don't ask me questions. Don't expect me to talk.  But don't leave me alone either.  

I relaxed into the couch and let my body labor throughout the afternoon and into the evening with my girl friend by my side.  Finally, around 7:45 pm I looked up at her and she simply said "5-6 minutes apart." The first acknowledgement that she knew exactly what her cherished role had been all along.

We left for home calling my mom on the way.  Senselessly worried about "crying wolf for false labor" I asked my mom to just come over "in case" but "not to hurry or anything."  By the time she "hadn't hurried" to get over it was almost 10 pm and I was sure I might have had this baby on the way to the hospital.  

(Checking into the hospital (I look so young!))

In pain, slightly giddy and a bit terrified we arrived to the hospital and were quickly checked in.  "You are progressing nicely, contractions about 4 minutes apart and already 5-6 cm dilated. Second baby.  No problem!  I'm placing my bets that you'll have this baby by 2 am easily!" we were assured by all the nurses.  

By 1:30 am I was vomiting in pain with contractions 1 minute apart and lasting about the same amount of time.  I was ready to be done.  We called the nurses back in sure that we were 'in transition' and had to be so close.  Still only 6-7 cm dilated... 

I was exhausted, dehydrated and had such terrible back labor (contractions you feel in your back instead of your uterus) that I couldn't keep focus and was quickly losing control.  My poor husband had worked the grave yard shift the night before and hadn't slept since 2pm on Friday.  His body ached from applying counter pressing into my back with all his strength for the last 3 hours.  "Would you be ok if I just took a quick break?" he gingerly whispered.  He could hardly stand or see straight.  Even in all my misery, I felt for him and knew he needed to lay down.  I got in a hot shower to try to ease the back pain as he rested for a "minute."  

The shower helped.  I found my focus.  I prayed.  I breathed.  I focused on relaxing my body so it could send my baby into the world.  My contractions slowed a little.  2-3 minutes apart.  1 minute long.  

3:45 am.  My husband fitfully slept under the window seal as I desperately paged the nurse to see how much closer I was getting.  I needed something, anything to encourage me that I was almost done.  Still 7 cm.... 

She called my doctor at my request as I was getting a little worried, because my contractions remained very close together, but I wasn't dilating past 7 cm.   My doctor came in by 4:30 am to check on me and recommended an epidural.  I had come so far.  I couldn't.  I had to do this.  She broke my water instead.  

4:45 am.  With a broken water my contractions roared in intensity.  1 minute apart.  1-1.5 minutes long. I shook in pain.  Pleaded for mercy.  Was it this intense last time?    

7:00 am.  Shift change.  As a fresh face entered the room I lost my courage.  I was done.  I was so physically exhausted I could only lay with my head weakly hanging off the bed in between indescribable contractions.  Something was not ok.  This was not how it felt last time.  She introduced herself and checked my cervix once again for her notes.  Still only 7 cm...  

"Had I felt a lot of back pain?  Had I noticed the baby still kicking?"  She asked.  YES!!  and No, I hadn't now that she mentioned it.  She felt my belly as I hysterically fought through contractions.  In just 10 minutes she could tell what none of the others had noticed in 8 hours.  The baby was turned upside down.  Each contraction propelled him into my back instead of down the birth canal.  Unless we turned him around he wasn't going to be born any time soon. 

This is actually fairly common.  Most of the time you can get into a few positions during natural child birth to help the baby turn over, but after 17 hours of such intense back labor and very little sleep the night before I couldn't stand.  Each time I lifted my head I vomited from pain.  Each time I search for my legs to stand on I thought I would collapse to the floor.  I was so tired.  So very, very tired.  

My husband was awake again and gently said "I think we need the epidural. He has to turn around, Jess." I remember looking at his face and sobbing in defeat.  Ok.  I'll do it.  

7:45 am.  The young, strapping (and likely handsome) anesthesiologist bounced into the room just like in the movies.  I passed in and out through his chipper questioning. Please don't be so happy.  Be somber.  Be exhausted like we all were.  I couldn't speak any more.  I couldn't even nod.   I used all of my strength to get back up, sit cross legged at the edge of the bed and lean forward as he felt my spine.  

8:00 am.  "I HAVE TO PUSH" 

Without a shadow of doubt, I suddenly had to push.  In a determined tone, I didn't just say, I informed everyone in the room that I had to push.  He was coming out.  THE BABY WAS COMING OUT!   "No, no, Jessica. You have to hold still.  You are only 7 cm dilated.  We are about to put in the catheter. We will check you as soon as he is finished.  Please, it is extremely important that you do not move at all."  

8:05 am.  The epidural needle was out. They laid me flat on my back and shoved pillows along my right side.  "THE BABY IS COMING OUT.  I NEED TO SIT UP. I'M GONNA PUSH." I was insisting!  My doctor walked around and checked my cervix for the 5000th time.  "There is the head! She's right!  Ok, let's get ready guys!  He's coming!"  I wanted to cry that I told them so.  I wanted to yell.  I suddenly wanted to run around the room. I wanted throw the anesthesiologist out the window.  

8:10 am.  "DO NOT PUSH YET.   Babies have to be born slowly.  We aren't ready."   They kept saying.  I wanted to sit up.  I wanted to get up.  Get the catheter out of my back.  Get ready to birth my baby.  But I couldn't.  Since the epidural had just been inserted I had to stay flat or it would go all to whatever point in my body I put the most weight on (they said).  So instead, I pushed my first born son into this world laying flat on my back with my head barely raised inches off the pillow.  The first few pushes did most of the work, but as the epidural medication slowly seeped through my legs the purposeful pain started to fade.  Was that a big push?   Am I doing this right?   "Almost there!  You can do this, Jess.  One more great big push!"  I can do this.  One more puuuuuuuussssssh.  

8:35 am. BORN!  Daddy swooped our precious gift into his arms and showed me his golden hair.  Exhausted tears fell as relief showered over me.  

8:36 am.  Holding him against my chest made it all worth it and I knew without any hesitation that I would do it all again in a heart beat.  

(Moments after birth) 

Thank you for giving me a son.  

Jonah, I'll always fight for you until I've got nothing left to fight and one swing past. 

Happy birthday, My Love.  

(3 days old)

Friday, October 18, 2013

7 Quick Takes Friday Vol 23 All about young love and superheroes

Soooo you may have not noticed, but it's been a while since we've partaken in the Quick Takes Party.   We have excuses.  We are becoming super heroes and falling into young love.   I'll explain....


Boy baby sat down next to girl baby.

Girl baby made the first move for the subtle hand hold. 

Boy boy knew just what to do. 

And then they were betrothed forever more.

Maybe he wasn't mature enough for his first play date after all. 

Or maybe I shouldn't have thrown a beautiful red head at my little rookie.


Speaking of Sam.   He turned 6 months this week so we went for a little well visit to the doctorski-poo.   All I have to say is this is a BIG boy.   The blame his in utero 'roid addiction.  I don't usually even pay attention to the percentile infantile competition propaganda, but when they practically extend the bell curve to accommodate the digits I start paying attention.   97th percentile.  Ninety-seventh percentile.  1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9!   His older brother by only and exactly 2 years is a mere 4" and 4lbs larger than he is.   

Bash, you have been warned.   Treat this one kindly.   


Except he can't.  For our poor frustrated batman kindness and understanding is simply not available. 

His super power climbing abilities have enabled him to escape crib captivity and defy the laws of sleep deprivation for far too many days in a row.   

If I could sum up my week with this one in a single adjective I'd go with "exhausted."  And that isn't describing Sebastian.  

Trying to keep a 2 year old superhero in a bed for naps and night time has tired me out beyond repair.  We're pulling out all the parenting tools, but this child WILL NOT STAY IN HIS BED! 


I suppose his partner in crime isn't exactly supporting our cause. The other toddler vigilante is thrilled that his superhero partner is out of jail.  Together, they enjoy keeping late night watch of their bedroom, jumping from tall objects and helping themselves to a crack of dawn yogurt while wearing ONLY their superhero undies. 

Did I mention that Sebastian isn't potty trained?   Add pee pee clean up to my morning routine if I dare sleep lightly enough to miss the early wake up parade.  


My recent week(s) may sound like doom and gloom with a sleep deprived, ornery Bash on the loose, but I've gotta be honest I do kiiiiiinda love listening to the brotherly shenanigans coming from their room at night.  They're conversations are hilarious.  They really think they're super heroes and to them stopping to sleep is simply not an option with so much adventure to be had.  Once they finally both fall asleep it's usually together either on the floor or in Jonah's bed.  And while I'm admitting to enjoying my misery, I also have say coming downstairs and seeing Jonah "take care" of his little brother (no matter how much extra work it created for me) melts my heart every time.   Allllllmost enough to let the yogurt smears all over the breakfast nook windows and spilled water cups all over the floor seem worth it.   Almost.  


Speaking of family bounding and brotherly love the other weekend was the annual Maggie's Place Run.  Maggie's Place is a pregnancy crisis center that we support here in town.  The big guys do the 10K race while my friend and I walk the 5K with the littles. 

I forgot my camera.... but I did catch a few iphone pics. 


After the races the little ones participate in a "Maggie's Place Kids Dash" that they take adorably seriously.  

Ok, maybe it's just Sienna who takes it so seriously.  I mean, look at that action shot.  I feel the determination pumping through her veins.  The finish line is still about 200 meters away....  Lord, I am sorry I passed along my competitive nature to this poor child of Yours.  Please help her use it for good in this world! 

Jonah tried his best and all, but I'm pretty sure his motivation was more related to the ice cream at the finish line.  

Meanwhile, Bash did NOT run, but nevertheless did take hydrating himself very seriously with enough water to fill a dam (and also 3 diapers in 2 hours). 

Lord, I am sorry I dressed my child in orthodic looking velcro reebok shoes that did him no favors in life.  Please use the humility I imposed on him for good in this world! 

Thanks for always hosting Jen!